


Roles

by ghostofgatsby



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Begging, Biting, Blow Jobs, Crying, Enthusiastic Consent, Hand Jobs, M/M, Pain Kink, Praise, Riding Crops, Safewords, Scratching, Spanking, safe sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 16:28:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5633389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostofgatsby/pseuds/ghostofgatsby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You want this...” Smith continues. His fingers slowly trace down the line of Trott’s throat, feather-light, dipping into Trott’s collarbone before moving upward again.<br/>Trott draws in a soft, shaky inhale. Smith’s fingertips skim up the side of his neck, feeling his pulse beneath skin.<br/>“Please...Smith.” Trott whispers, and Smith can hardly disappoint him now, not when he says his name so sweetly.<br/>“Alright...” He drawls, grin spreading across his face. “Just remember, Trott...you asked for it.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roles

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Year! Have almost 5,000 words of smut.
> 
> Original idea came to me after reading Nerves by missigma, and spiraled away from there.
> 
> Smith domming is not a characterization I’d usually choose. I know I said in Good Boy that I couldn’t see him domming in any other way than in that fic...but I think I’ve proven myself wrong, surprisingly. Plus, Trott being a little shit sub is endlessly amusing. (Even though I didn’t take that as far as I could have in this fic.)  
> I wanted there to be a balance to this- you can be stern and loving, rough and gentle, guarded and vulnerable, and serious and silly, all at the same time.  
> Switching up what’s expected in fic, whether that’s roles/positions/archetypes/etc, interests me greatly, and I love it.
> 
> I think the story ended up better for all the changes it went through. It could probably use more editing, since 90% of it was written at 3am, but I'm sick of working on it lol.
> 
> Other than what is tagged for above, this story also contains Light Bondage and Marks/Bruises.  
> If I need to tag anything else, let me know.
> 
> reblog?: https://ghostofgatsby13.wordpress.com/2016/01/04/roles-ghostofgatsby/

Smith sits in Trott’s wingback chair in the study, trying to seem sophisticated. One elbow leans against the armrest of the chair, propping up his chin in his hand, and one of Smith’s ankles rests up on the thigh of his opposite leg. He’s wearing a plain burgundy button down with the sleeves rolled up, tan chinos, and boots. His choice in clothing is not so uncommon, but the clothes themselves are finer in quality and neatly pressed.

Trott smirks as he walks into the study and comes to a stop in front of Smith. Smith's trying to seem both nonchalant and serious, but Trott can see the crinkling at the corner of his eyes that means he's smiling.

Smith clears his throat and draws his hand away from his face. He schools his features into a stern expression, and gives Trott a once-over.

“Well?” Smith asks, raising an eyebrow. “Strip, already.”

Trott starts undoing his shirt buttons. His fingers unfasten the buttons methodically, one at a time, and part the folds of the fabric as they go.

Smith follows the movement of Trott’s hands with his eyes burning a trail pointedly downwards.

Trott undoes his belt next. The metal buckle jangles quietly as he shimmies his pants and boxers to the floor. He steps out of his clothes and kicks them behind him, eyes locked with Smith’s.

Once Trott is naked, Smith stands and walks over to him. He briefly caresses Trott’s cheek before smoothing his hand down his neck and across his shoulder blade.

Trott shivers involuntarily. The crisp air-conditioning seeps through the floor vents on his right, but Trott can feel their body heat radiating between them despite the coolness of the air on his skin.

Smith’s hand is warm as it moves down Trott’s chest. He kisses along Trott’s jawline and neck, nipping marks along his collarbone. His lips are gentle and his stubble is scratchy on Trott’s skin.

Trott closes his eyes, basking in the feeling.

Smith’s fingertips trail teasingly light down Trott’s stomach. It makes his muscles twitch reflexively, and Smith pulls away.

“Trott.” Smith taps his cheek. “Look at me.”

Trott opens his eyes.

“Words?” Smith asks. He swallows thickly and strokes his knuckles down Trott’s cheek again.

“Red to stop, yellow to slow, green to go.” Trott answers with a smile.

Smith can see the reassurance in his eyes, and mirrors him, smiling back. “Okay.” He drops his hand and nods. His smile morphs into a smirk. “Then lets begin.”

Smith steps back from Trott a pace. The boots he’s wearing make imprints in the carpet.

“On your knees.” He orders.

Trott smoothly takes his place at Smith’s feet, kneeling with his hands at his sides, and looking up at Smith with dark eyes and a tiny smirk.

Smith hooks his thumbs in his pockets to still his fidgeting hands, and shifts closer, caging Trott’s knees with his feet. Trott tilts his head back further to keep his eyes locked with Smith’s.

“You’re going to be good tonight.” Smith says, low and decisive. There isn’t a question in his phrasing.

A smile plays on the cupid’s bow of Trott’s lips. “Yes.” He replies simply.

“Yes...?” Smith draws the word out, probing for the response he wants.

Trott licks his lips. His tongue is a pink dart amongst the brightness of his smile.

“Yes, _sir_.” Trott corrects with a grin.

Smith smirks. “Good.” His knuckles brush Trott’s cheek and follow his jawline reverently.

Trott’s grin smooths from his face at Smith’s caress, and his eyes briefly flutter shut.

“You want this...” Smith continues. His fingers move away from Trott’s cheek. They slowly trace down the line of Trott’s throat, feather-light, dipping into Trott’s collarbone before moving upward again.

Trott draws in a soft, shaky inhale. Smith’s fingertips skim up the side of his neck, feeling his pulse beneath skin.

“Yes, sir.” Trott murmurs, eyelashes fluttering up at Smith. “Please...”

Smith looks down at Trott with a coy smile on his face, and pulls his fingers away. Trott is kneeling at his feet, naked and willing. Smith doesn’t want to move just yet. He wonders if Trott can feel the heat of his legs where he’s caging him in. If he can see the slow spread of arousal in his features.

“Ask me again.” He orders, hooking his thumbs in his pockets again. “You want this. Beg me.”

Trott chuckles a little breathlessly. He still has his head tipped back, his throat exposed as he stares up at Smith.

“Please, sir.” He says, eyes dark and shining with amusement. “Please.”

“Ask me again.” Smith repeats.

“Please...Smith.” Trott whispers, and Smith can hardly disappoint him now, not when he says his name so sweetly.

“Alright...” He drawls, grin spreading across his face. “Just remember, Trott...you asked for it.”

Trott watches as Smith returns to his chair. He takes his seat with a coy smile and sultry eyes. His body posture is evident of his haughty attitude.

“Come here.” Smith calls.

Trott moves to stand.

“Ah, ah-” Smith corrects Trott with a devilish smile, making him pause. “ _Crawl_.”

Trott rolls his eyes and begrudgingly lowers himself onto his hands and knees.

“Did you just roll your eyes at me?” Smith asks, tilting his head to the side in curiosity.

“Maybe I did.” Trott snarks back. He starts to walk across the carpet and towards Smith. His eyes stare, defiant, dark and hungry.

Smith grins predatorily. “You’re going to get punished for that attitude of yours...” He threatens as he watches Trott slink towards him.

“That’s kind of the idea.” Trott says with a playful smirk. “Cheek for cheek.”

Trott’s palms catch on the carpet. His shoulders and hips shift with the movement as he continues crawling towards Smith. When Trott’s at his feet, Smith reaches down and grasps his chin, quickly unsettling the smirk from his lips in the process.

“Cheek for cheek, huh?” Smith chuckles lowly, tilting Trott’s head up to look him in the eye. “If that’s what you want, Trotty, I’ll give it to you.”

Trott blinks up at Smith, who smiles down at him with fire smoldering in his eyes.

“You want this.” He murmurs, his voice low and sultry. “And I’ll give it to you, Trott, there’s no doubt.”

“Yes, sir.” Trott retorts.

Smith brushes Trott’s hair back into place with his free hand, his other still grasping under Trott’s chin. “We’ll see just how cheeky you are, when I’m through with you...” He states.

Trott lets out a staggered exhale at Smith’s words, and Smith pulls his hands away.

“Stand up and bend over my lap.” Smith commands, straightening his own posture in his chair. “Get comfortable, Trotty- you might be here a while.” He smirks.

Trott stands up, legs a little wobbly, and folds himself in half over Smith’s lap. Smith’s legs are spread shoulder-length apart, just shy of Trott’s chin and crotch, and Trott keeps his hands at his sides. Smith’s hand rubs warmly up and down his back, following the curve of his spine.

“If you’re going to hit me...hit me.” Trott mutters.

“If I’d like to, I will.” Smith replies, tracing nonsensical patterns down Trott’s sides and across his asscheeks. “Patience is a virtue, Trott, you should know that.”

“Says you?” Trott tuts, squirming in Smith’s lap. “Since when are you patient?”

Smith stops Trott’s squirming, pressing his other hand between Trott’s shoulder blades and holding him in place. He sighs and shakes his head. “Do you really want to test me, Trott? I’m just as stubborn as you are, if not more so.”

Trott groans. “Come _on_ , Smith. Just fucking _hit me_ -”

“If you want me to, then _be patient_. You want to play the waiting game? That’s fine- I’ve got _all_ day.”

Trott opens his mouth to reply, and Smith digs his nails into his skin a little.

“I could make you wait here on your knees, held over my lap.” He says lowly, “If that’s what you fucking want.”

Trott exhales, breath hot on Smith’s thigh, but he says nothing.

“You _agreed_...that you’d be _good_...” Smith murmurs, scratching his nails down Trott’s back. He watches Trott stiffen, as red marks brighten where his nails have been.

“Yes, sir...” Trott mumbles resolutely.

“If you want this, then you have to wait for it. And you’re going to wait until I’m ready to give it to you.” Smith continues. He walks his fingers up Trott’s back again, to the nape of his neck.

Trott shudders. “Yes, sir.” He repeats, the second time more breathily as Smith makes a second set of lines down his back.

“You’re going to stay still and take it as it comes...” Smith says slowly, voice saccharine as he digs his nails harder. He lifts his hand away before he reaches the mole near the base of Trott’s spine, and rubs the back of his hand up the rising marks.

"I’ve been good so far, haven’t I?" Trott pleads. “Come on, already.”

“Don’t be a smart ass, _Scrottimus_.” Smith mutters, pinching his right cheek.

Trott winces lightly and sighs through his teeth. “Fuck, _please_. _Smith_.”

Smith tuts. “You’re so fucking _whiney_. Fine-” He smacks Trott’s right cheek and then the left with barely any force. “Is this what you wanted?”

"Harder." Trott stutters.

“Harder? Think you’re going to have to beg if you want that.” Smith scratches his nails lightly across the cheek he just hit.

Trott huffs. “Harder, Smith, please. Come on!”

_Smack._

" _Harder_."

_SMACK_. Trott lets out a quiet gasp, the heat of Smith’s hits sinking into him.

"That hard enough for you?" Smith asks, smarmy.

Trott hums in agreement and nuzzles his face against Smith's thigh.

Smith rubs his hand across Trott’s cheeks, soothing the sting. "You want more?" He questions.

Trott grins, chuckle bubbling from his lips. "Fuck yeah, I want more," He replies cheekily. “Please.”

Smith laughs. "Course you do.” His hand comes down in playful hits, light, barely anything. He rubs his palms into Trott's asscheeks, soothing the sting after each set of hits.

Trott bites his lip, hiding a smile as Smith layers on more blows. He can’t help but moan quietly at a particularly hard hit, as the stinging pain zips through him.

“Fucking masochistic bastard." Smith sighs warmly. He intersperses light taps with hard hits again, watching color bloom across Trott’s backside. He can feel Trott getting hard against his thigh, and his own arousal stirs in the pit of his stomach. He doesn’t get off on giving pain, but the sight of Trott so turned on gets him hot and bothered.

“Fuck, your ass is pink...” Smith murmurs, pausing in his ministrations to give his hand a break. His knuckles skim the red blotches spreading across Trott’s cheeks, and Trott shivers. Smith can hear him panting and trying to catch his breath.

“Sit back on your haunches for a bit.” Smith commands. He pulls his hands away as Trott sits up.

Trott shakes his head to get the hair out of his eyes and looks up at Smith.

Smith smiles at the flush on Trott’s face and chest, and at his arousal-darkened eyes. He tilts Trott’s chin up with a knuckle and leans down to kiss him.

Trott makes a small muffled noise as their lips move slowly and tenderly together. Smith nips gently at Trott’s bottom lip with his teeth, and pulls back.

“Do you want more?” Smith asks carefully.

Trott nods.

“Words, Trott.” Smith reminds him.

Trott licks his lips and nods again. “Yes.”

Smith doesn’t correct him with a title. He knew via Trott’s advice pre-scene that he was lucky to get a “Yes” instead of a “Yeah” at this point, never mind the “sir” desired at the end. But it was never really about titles, anyway; Smith would much rather Trott just say his name.

Smith uses the armrests to stand up, and walks away from the chair. “Bend over the seat.” He commands over his shoulder to Trott.

Trott reorients himself, placing his hands on the seat of the chair and his head in his hands.

Smith looks away. He takes a deep breath to center himself again, and walks out of the study.

Bee-lining for Trott’s bedroom, Smith jimmies open the bottom drawer of Trott’s dresser and quickly retrieves what he wants: a riding crop.

Smith sits back on his haunches for a moment, moving his hand along the length of the crop and inspecting the leatherwork. It’s wrapped in sleek black leather, extends just over a foot long, and has worn soft with use in the handle. Smith taps the square-shaped tail into his palm. The leather is supple but sturdy in his hand.

Taking a deep breath again, Smith stands and returns to the study. He doesn’t want to keep Trott waiting for longer than necessary.

Trott’s in the same position that he left him in, bent over the chair seat and waiting dutifully.

Smith slowly walks over to Trott, his boots pressing into the carpet with every step. He stops when he’s a few feet away from him and extends out his arm.

“You want this, don’t you.” Smith murmurs, stroking the end of the crop down Trott’s reddened right cheek. He watches a shiver ripple across Trott’s back.

Trott inhales sharply. “Please...” His quiet voice answers back, “ _Yes_.”

Smith would have asked him to beg, but Trott’s tone is certain.

“You’ve been so good so far...” Smith says quietly. He tightens his grip on the handle of the crop as he traces from one cheek to another. “I should give you what you want, shouldn’t I.”

“Please.” Trott exhales, breath shaky.

Smith shifts his feet. He remembers how Trott taught him to wield the crop, and begins by lightly tapping the end on Trott’s cheeks. Then he starts varying the strength of the hits.

Bright red spots rise where the crop lands, on top of the faint pink left behind from the earlier spanking. The sound of the crop hitting skin is harsh in comparison to Trott’s soft panting noises. It’s the only noise he makes, as Smith varies his blows with delicate precision.

Smith gives a sharp flick to his wrist, striking Trott’s cheek with a loud crack. The hit makes Trott gasp, and Smith slows down.

“What’s your color, Trott?” He asks, brushing the tail of the crop against the mark he just made. He can’t see Trott’s face where it’s pressed to the chair seat, but he can hear him panting.

“Green.” Trott replies. “So green.”

Smith smiles slightly in relief. “Do you want me to keep going?” He asks, briefly lowering the crop to his side.

“Yes. Please.” Trott’s legs shiver in place.

“Alright. If that’s what you’re into...twat.” Smith punctuates the remark with a swat to where Trott’s left cheek meets his upper thigh.

Trott chuckles giddily, and lets out a small moan as Smith continues.

Behind Trott’s back, Smith’s stern face slips into a gentle smile. The house is quiet save for Trott’s gasps and panting noises and the sound of the crop hitting skin. Normally Smith’s the one making all the noise. He would feel unsettled by the quiet if Trott wasn’t so obviously turned on.

Another sharp hit has Trott rocking forward against the seat with a shudder and moan. Smith gently tosses the crop aside- in reach, but where they won’t accidentally step on it- and walks back up to Trott.

“Fuck, look at you...bent over like this, taking it.” Smith murmurs, tracing the welts with his fingertips.

Trott groans quietly, hips stuttering against the seat. He’s hard, and there’s a faint sheen of sweat along his back. Smith silently hopes he’s not getting pre come on the seat cushion- Trott would complain later about getting it out of the fabric.

“You’ve been so good for me...” Smith says in appreciation. “Think you can be good for a little longer? Hm?” He rubs across Trott’s cheeks with a gentle hand, thumb catching the edge of a bright scarlet welt.

Trott whimpers, flinching away from his touch with a choked off noise, and Smith pulls back. “Trott?” Smith asks. He furrows his brow in concern.

“Fuck.” Trott whispers. “I- I just...”

“...Need a few?”

Trott has his face hidden in his arms. He nods. “Yeah...”

“Okay.” Smith says softly, kneeling down next to Trott. “You can move back whenever you’d like, then.” He rubs Trott’s back and leans against the arm of the chair, watching him carefully. The scratches he left on his back are almost a memory.

Trott sucks in several shaky breaths, and Smith frowns.

“Look at me, Trott.” He orders, guiding Trott’s arms away from his face.

When Trott meets Smith’s eyes, his cheeks are tear-streaked.

Smith swallows thickly. “Okay. Yellow, I think.” He stutters. “I think that’s enough of the crop for today.” He rubs back and forth in soothing motions across Trott's shoulders.

“B-But...” Trott takes a deep breath. “No, wait- I- I’m sorry. I didn’t-” A tear drips off the end of his eyelashes and onto the chair cushion.

“No, it's alright. Really.” Smith reassures him. He strokes his fingers through Trott’s hair at the nape of his neck. “You’ve been _so_ good. You’ve been so good for me. I'm not punishing you for that, okay?”

Trott hums. He stares back at Smith a little hazily.

“You’ve been so good for me, Trott...” Smith murmurs, leaning in and pecking kisses along his shoulder blades. “You _are_ so good for me. Aren’t you.”

“Yeah...” Trott sighs, closing his eyes. “Yeah, okay.”

“That's right.” Smith chuckles. He bends over, pecking kisses down Trott’s spine and one each to Trott’s reddened asscheeks.

Trott laughs into the seat cushion, wincing a little at the soreness Smith has provoked.

“Too tender?” Smith asks at Trott’s wince. He sits up and rubs Trott’s back again.

“It’s sore. But it’s good.” Trott answers softly. “I don’t want you to stop.”

“I know. But there are other things to do. Just take your time.” Smith says, “We’ll continue whenever you're ready. Okay?”

Trott nods. He waits until the tears stop trekking down his face, and then slowly sits back on his haunches, wincing.

“Alright?” Smith asks.

The words are hardly out of his mouth before a lazy grin spreads across Trott’s face.

“Yeah.” Trott replies. “I’m good.”

Smith brushes the hair out of Trott’s eyes and wipes the water from his cheeks. “What’s your color?” He asks with a concerned frown.

“Green.”

“You sure?”

Trott smiles. “I’m sure, Smith. I’m green. Please.” Trott’s eyes are lust-darkened, though a little less hazy than before. He kisses the edge of Smith’s hand, eyelashes fluttering against his palm.

Smith smiles back at him. “Okay.” He murmurs, stroking Trott’s cheek. He kisses Trott briefly, but deeply, tasting a hint of mint and tea on his tongue.

When Smith pulls away, he traces Trott’s bottom lip with his thumb.

Trott’s eyes sparkle at him with mischief in their depths. He lets Smith press his thumb past his lips and between his teeth.

Trott’s tongue is warm and wet as it teases along the underside of Smith’s thumb. It cheekily circles the tip, and a shiver runs down Smith’s spine. He pulls his thumb free, split-slick, and gets up off his knees.

Trott licks his lips as Smith sits back down on the chair.

“Come around in front of me.” Smith commands, guiding Trott to kneel between his legs. As he undoes his pants, releasing his own erection from its confines, he takes a condom out of his pocket.

He tears it open and offers it to Trott, who smirks and plucks the condom from the sleeve.

Smith's hips jerk up as Trott slides it down his dick. Trott’s hand wraps around the base and he leans in to tease Smith with lips and tongue.

"Oh _fuck,_ Trott. Fuck, you're so good..." Smith murmurs, threading his hand through Trott’s hair.

Trott hums back at the praise, and Smith lets out a groan in response.

“So fucking good...”

The warmth of Trott’s mouth enveloping his dick, and the pressure of his lips, makes Smith lean back into the chair. He tries, futilely, to keep his eyes open, but at least manages to keep his hips still for Trott’s sake.

“Just like that- fuck, yes-” Smith pants. His toes curl inside his boots.

Trott’s head bobs up and down. His fingers slip through the folds of Smith’s boxers, twining through the hair around the base of his cock.

“Fuck, Trott- _Trott-_ ” The pressure of Trott’s decreases as Smith comes, and Trott slowly pulls back. He stands unprompted and disposes of the condom, leaving Smith panting, sprawled back in his chair. Upon return, Trott’s still naked and hard.

“Come here.” Smith beckons, voice roughened. He sits up in the chair again as Trott comes closer.

“Do you think you can sit down?” Smith asks, re-buttoning his pants with a pleased sigh.

Trott smirks and nods.

“Are you sure?”

“Green.” Trott murmurs.

“Okay. Sit on my lap, facing away from me.”

Trott turns and sits down, letting out a low moan as his sore cheeks meet Smith’s thighs.

Smith spreads Trott’s legs with his between and a hand on each of Trott’s knees. “Lean back.” He whispers, kissing the back of Trott’s neck and behind his ear. His hushed breath is warm against Trott’s skin. “Give me your hands.”

Trott groans quietly and brings his wrists behind him.

Smith holds them together in the small of Trott’s back.

“Fuck, look at you...” Smith praises, smoothing his other hand across Trott’s hip and wrapping it around his cock. “You’re so fucking good, Trott. And you’ve waited so long for it, too...”

Smith strokes him off slowly. He moves his hand languidly up and down Trott’s dick, and smears the pre come at the tip with his thumb.

“ _Shit._ ” Trott curses, letting out a quiet whimper as Smith sucks a bruise into his neck.

“So good, Trott.” Smith whispers. His lips skim up the side of Trott’s neck and nibble another mark behind his ear. “You’ve been so fucking good.”

“Fuck.” Trott shudders in his arms. “ _Smith_ -”

“That’s it. Come on.” Smith’s hand quickens its movement. ”Come on, Trott. So good for me.”

Trott’s back arches. A shiver runs through his shoulders, and he comes with a quiet exhale.

Trott slumps back into Smith’s chest.

"Good?" He asks, pulling his hand away and letting go of Trott’s wrists.

Trott hums, sated. He catches his breath and turns to kiss Smith's stubbled jaw. As he shifts in Smith’s arms, he winces at the soreness the movement causes.

“Alright there?” Smith asks, one hand resting on Trott’s hip.

Trott kisses the corner of Smith’s mouth in lieu of a reply.

Smith chuckles. “I'll take that as a yes, then?” He asks, relieved.

Trott nods and nuzzles his cheek. It takes him a little time to say anything else, but Smith waits patiently.

“You did good.” Trott finally murmurs. “Told you, you would be.” He teases.

“I’m glad.” Smith says back. “You did good, too.”

Trott gives him a lazy smile, and Smith kisses him.

“Can you stand up for a minute?” He asks when he pulls away.

Trott nods and rises off of Smith’s lap as gingerly as he can to stand on unsteady feet.

Smith chuckles a little at Trott’s wobbling.

Trott crosses the room and fetches his clothes from the other side, stretching and wincing as he goes.

"How are you feeling? Not too sore?" Smith asks, examining the array of red on Trott's backside.

"I'm good, sunshine..." Trott replies, unsteady on his feet as he redresses. “Nothing I haven’t had before.” He gives Smith a grin.

Smith gets up as Trott walks back over to the chair. “Rest here for a bit.” He instructs, pecking a kiss to Trott’s forehead and guiding him to sit. “I'm going to go get a few things.”

Smith leaves the study, returning the crop to its original place, cleaning himself up in the bathroom, getting a towel and Trott’s fuzzy bathrobe from the linen closet, and getting Trott something to drink. He comes back to the study, arms laden with things, and Trott laughs at the sight of him.

“Here, drink this.” Smith says, cracking open a water bottle and handing it to Trott.

Trott sips slowly as Smith cleans him up a bit with the towel.

“How’re you feeling?” He asks when he finishes, tossing the towel aside.

“Good.” Trott answers. “Tired. Sore, of course. But good.”

Smith smiles softly at Trott. Weariness is visible in Trott’s eyes. After all they’ve done today, he’ll need a good dose of rest.

“How are _you_ feeling?” Trott asks Smith back. He hands him the bottle of water, and Smith takes a few drinks before he sets it aside.

“I’m good. Really good, I think.” Smith answers, taking a deep breath. “I was...kind of unsure about it, but I’m really glad it worked out well.

Trott nods. “I told you it would be fine.” He teases again.

Smith chuckles half-heartedly and gives a shrug. “I know you told me, but I still didn’t know for sure if everything was going to go okay.” He meets Trott’s eyes and chews his lip. “And you were crying a little, after the crop...” He trails off, not knowing what to say.

Trott shrugs and takes his hand. “It happens, sometimes. The rush of endorphins effects everyone differently.”

Smith sits down cross-legged at Trott’s feet, resting his and Trott’s clasped hands on Trott’s knee. He leans his head against the chair with a sigh.

“Was...was that the right thing to do? You didn’t want me to stop, but I wasn’t sure if it was too much for you...I wasn’t sure if I was making the right decision.”

“I think you handled it just fine.” Trott replies.

Smith looks up at him questioningly. “Did I?” He asks.

“Mhm.” Trott strokes his fingers through Smith’s hair. “You knew what I needed. You did what I asked, but you didn’t push your limits for my sake. That’s important. It’s okay for you to safeword, Smith, as much as it is for me.”

Smith nods. “You told me that before, too. But...” He squeezes Trott’s hand gently. “Thanks for telling me again.”

“Of course.” Trott smiles. “Safewords can be used by anyone involved, sunshine, regardless of who’s domming or subbing.”

A smirk turns up the corner of Smith’s mouth. “Thanks for being so good, by the way.”

Trott chuckles back. “You’re welcome. And thank _you_.”

They sit there for a few minutes, until Smith notices Trott’s shivering. They stand and Smith helps Trott into the bathrobe, adjusting the fit over his shoulders and wrapping him up tightly in the fuzzy fabric.

Trott leans into Smith’s embrace, head-butting Smith’s shoulder as he holds him close.

“Do you want to sit down again?” Smith asks, petting his hair.

Trott nods.

Smith sits back down in the chair. Trott curls up in his lap, tucking himself against Smith’s chest with a sharp series of pained winces.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Smith asks quietly. He wraps his arms more securely around Trott, looking down at him with tired eyes.

Trott nuzzles the side of Smith's neck. “I'm good.” He mumbles.

“Okay. Do you need anything?” Smith lets out a yawn.

“Just this.” Trott murmurs. “This is good.”

Smith smiles and kisses the top of Trott's head. “Sounds good, Trott. I can do that.”

 


End file.
